


Waiting

by cypress_tree



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 14:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10219850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: In the time in-between, they're alone.  At least they have each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a birthday gift for bee [geniusbee](http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/) ❤

The inner sanctum has one window―up high, along the slope of the ceiling. When sunlight streams through and hits Baze on the face, he knows that it’s already mid-morning.

Baze turns onto his side. Chirrut’s bedroll is empty. He’s left the covers neat and straightened, but has forgotten the cup he keeps on a stony ledge above his pillow. Baze sits up. He pulls on a clean jumpsuit and re-wraps his hair on one side. He picks up Chirrut’s cup and drinks the last sips of water. The cup is made of scrap metal, and has stayed cool all night. Baze carries it with him into the temple.

 

\---

 

Chirrut is sweeping the stairs by the temple entryway. He walks slowly along each step, brushing sand down to the ground below. As Baze walks over to him, Chirrut tilts his head in Baze’s direction. He stops sweeping. Baze puts a hand on Chirrut’s waist and kisses his forehead.

“You slept late,” Chirrut says, leaning towards him just a bit. “There are chores to be done.”

Baze gives a grunt and looks up at the sky as an Imperial shuttle flies overhead.

“I left you half my meiloorun fruit.” Chirrut says. He pats Baze’s hand, then pulls away and continues to sweep.

 

\---

 

Baze leaves Chirrut’s cup in the sink for the kitchen droid. He has breakfast alone in the refectory, then heads to the archival room to continue his repair work. The relief sculptures on the archive walls have been pockmarked by blasters. When the stormtroopers raided the temple, they destroyed everything without any regard for its historical significance. Weeks later, Baze caught Chirrut running his hands along the broken sculptures, his fingers trembling over each blaster mark. Baze started repairing them the next day.

Baze opens a container of stone substitute. He sprinkles water into it, then looks up at the wall as he kneads. The panel in front of him depicts a Jedi master deep in meditation. A blaster has blown away two of the Jedi’s four legs. Baze presses stone-sub into the hole and smooths it flat against the background. He pinches some more into his hand and starts shaping it into a leg.

Baze was no artist when he began this work, but he’s gotten better over time. He’s found that he enjoys sculpting and carving. Once, he made a flower for Chirrut out of clay. He still catches Chirrut fingering the tiny token in the pocket of his robe. Seeing this warms Baze’s heart and encourages him to continue.

Baze finishes the leg and presses it against the stone on the wall. He uses a piece of scrap metal tied to a stick as a tiny scraping tool, smoothing the edges of the new piece into the old. It will harden overnight, sealing seamlessly. Though there’s an obvious difference between the original sculpture and Baze’s repairs, he can’t bring himself to care. It’s better than looking at blaster holes. Once he’s satisfied with the piece, he pulls up a stool and sets it in front of the wall. He’ll be here for a while. He reaches into his container and starts to sculpt a second leg.

 

\---

 

Just past noon, they go to the market. Chirrut is in the mood for soup, so they walk to his favorite stall, sheltered under a tiny lean-to. It’s owned by an elderly Rodian woman whose grandchildren adore Chirrut. The woman pours him a bowl of soup as the children dance around Chirrut’s legs. Baze buys a spear of meat from a tent nearby and watches Chirrut from a distance. One of the children is trying to climb his robes. Their grandmother looks embarrassed, but Chirrut just smiles. He holds out his staff horizontally, and the child jumps up to grab it. Chirrut swings them in a circle as they laugh.

 

\---

 

That afternoon, Baze takes a break from carving in favor of a few smaller chores. He removes rubble from a study room, then sweeps it clean. He beats dust out of curtains and rugs. He repairs a small droid, then sets it on its own task.

It’s been almost a year since the raid of the temple, but the presence of the stormtroopers can still be felt. They’re in every torn tapestry, every empty display case. Baze walks down an empty hallway as the sun sets. His footsteps echo, and his shadow moves alone against the floor. He’s just passing the training room when the sound of blaster fire stops him in his tracks. He freezes, but sighs with relief when realizes what it is.

Baze walks quietly to the door of the room. Chirrut is there, two remotes whizzing around him as he stands poised, his staff at the ready. The remotes begin firing at the same time. Chirrut blocks some shots and ricochets others into the wall. They disappear in a puff of smoke. The remotes change position and fire again, but not a single shot finds its mark.

Baze can’t stop staring. He’s seen Chirrut fight dozens of times―far more than he’d like to―but he’s still struck by the man’s strength and fluidity―the artistic grace of his movements. He chews on his bottom lip, enraptured.

Chirrut snaps his fingers, and a third remote jumps into the mix. Instead of firing, this one flies at Chirrut, forcing him to dodge it while he blocks shots from the other two. It doesn’t slow him down one bit. Chirrut ducks and glides out of the way. Baze watches the shift of his solid, slim body.

“Are you alright?” Chirrut asks. He snaps again, and the remotes fall still.

Baze startles. “What?”

“Your breathing is labored.” Chirrut pulls a cloth from his pocket and wipes the sweat from his brow.

Baze clears his throat. “I’m fine,” he says. Chirrut walks towards him with the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. He puts a hand on Baze’s chest, pressing it close. Baze is very aware of his rapid heartbeat. The smile on Chirrut’s face grows bigger.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Baze grumbles. Chirrut laughs and pulls him into the room by his collar.

 

\---

 

With the sunset comes the cold. The kitchen droid prepares a hot meal for dinner; it feels good to be enjoying warm food at the end of the day. Baze and Chirrut sit across from each other at a table in the refectory.

“Tomorrow,” Chirrut says. “We should go back to the market. Something is happening there―did you notice the increased Imperial presence?”

Baze mumbles a “yes” with his mouth full.

“Something is about to happen. The Force is calling me there. It’s calling us both. You would know, if you would listen.”

“Did the Force call you there today, too?” Baze asks. “Perhaps by ‘the Force’ you mean ‘your stomach,’ and the thing that’s about to happen involves more of Leeda’s spicy tuber soup.”

Chirrut kicks Baze under the table. Baze laughs and looks up at him.

“No soup tomorrow unless I can beg enough money from the tourists,” Chirrut says. “They’re fewer and fewer every month.”

Their moods become somber. Without the Temple of the Kyber, pilgrims have little reason to come to Jedha. They haven’t had a visitor in weeks.

“Alright,” Baze sighs. He pushes his empty bowl to the side and sets his eating sticks across the top. “The market,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

 

\---

 

The inner sanctum houses the only fireplace in the temple. They light it on nights like this―when everything is quiet and the day has been long and slow. Chirrut kneels in front of the hearth and sits on his legs. His eyes are closed, and the dancing flames cast shadows over his skin.

Baze pulls two pillows from their sleeping area. He sits down on one and sets the other beside Chirrut. After a moment, Chirrut takes a deep breath and shifts to sit on the pillow. They both face the warmth of the fire.

“Do you regret staying?” Chirrut asks, quietly.

Baze looks at him.

“With you?” he asks. “No.”

The fire crackles and snaps. Chirrut reaches out to Baze, palm upturned. Baze takes his hand and interlocks their fingers.

“Sometimes I wonder if we should have gone,” Chirrut says. “Like you wanted to. We could have found a place off-world and settled there.”

“But you wouldn’t have been happy. And I wouldn’t have been happy seeing that you were unhappy.”

Chirrut squeezes his hand.

Baze doesn’t have faith in the Force, but he has faith in Chirrut. And though he doesn’t want to admit it, he can feel something, too. Intuition, maybe. A sixth sense. He strokes his thumb along Chirrut’s hand. _Soon_ , he thinks, as Chirrut leans against him. _Whatever it is, something will come to us soon_.

 

\---


End file.
